


Anybody Wanna Buy A Heart?

by Damalia (Achrya)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Crossdressing, Eventual Sexual Content, Language, M/M, Pining, Sex Work, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Damalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a little (lot) too much to drink leads to unexpected confessions and losing his job a desperate Jean makes the choice to enter the world of sugaring. Jean doesn't expect much out of it, especially after Armin's frank and less than glowing review of the lifestyle, and he certainly doesn't expect Marco: a businessman who is short on time for a real relationship but has the money to pay for a 'convenient' one and takes an instant liking to him.</p><p>Armin has been at this long enough to know there are no Prince Charmings and no happy endings to be found where money is exchanged for 'companionship.' And yet there's Eren, a moody musician who needs eye candy to help his image and keep the 'leeches' away, and manages to work his way right under Armin's skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anybody Wanna Buy A Heart?

**Author's Note:**

> Weird dreams=weird stories.
> 
> The rating on this will go up eventually. So be aware of that.

“Jean!” Connie sing-songed as he fell into step next to him. “You really aren’t coming out with us tonight? You never come out.”

Jean rubbed at his eyes, fighting back a face splitting yawn, then shook his head. “Nah, you three go ahead. I’m not up for it tonight.”

He was, to put it mildly, fucking dead on his feet. He’d worked every day for the past two weeks and, with classes to attend and mid-terms creeping up, he hadn’t been sleeping nearly as much as he needed to. He was dealing with it as best he could, winter break would be around soon enough, but even hanging out at the library until closing to study had taken so much out of him and he still had a long train ride and walk home before he could even consider sleeping.

“That’s why you need to come out!” Sasha proclaimed from his other side as she slung an arm around his neck. “Unwind a little. You need to cut loose. Have some drinks!”

Connie nodded eagerly. “Yeah. Dawkes is having half priced night for college students.”

He smiled wanly and shook his head. He was tempted to say that even if he hadn’t been tired and even at half-price he couldn’t afford to go out and drink with them. He was stretched thin for the month as it was and trying to work around his phone screen being a spiderweb of cracks and fucked up color while he tried to set aside to funds to replace it. Drinks were just not in the budget this month.

Not that they ever were, which was why he was always turning down the attempts to get him to come out and drink with them.

Jean knew his friends meant well and that, for the most part, they didn’t mean to make things awkward for him. They had different circumstances than he did and, while they certainly weren’t well off by any means, that meant they could do things he couldn’t.  Beyond that, he played his personal stuff close to the chest so he doubted they were aware of just how dire his circumstances were.

He wasn’t interested in seeing how sorry for him they’d become if they realized that his vagueness about his family was a cover for his dad having skipped out when he was 16, taking everything they owned and any money the family had to their name, taking them from fairly privileged to barely scraping by overnight. He didn’t want pity because there were closets bigger than his apartment and about 40% of his diet consisted of what he could scrape up at work.

It was what it was and, while he certainly sat and brooded about it on his own time, he wasn’t about to do it in front of other people. That just wasn’t who he was.

“But Jean-”

“I’m gonna pass too.” Armin, who was trailing behind them as they walked away from the library and across campus, said. Sasha made a noise of protest and whirled around, seemingly forgetting all about Jean.

“What? You’re ditching us too?”

Jean glanced over his shoulder to see Armin smiling faintly and shrugging. “I’ve got work in the morning. Can’t afford to be hungover or too tired to function.”

Connie snorted. “I’m pretty sure you can.”

It was a not so-secret secret that Armin was sort of loaded. Or, at least, had a really nice place in a coveted apartment building close to campus, drove a nice new model car, and never seemed to lack for the newest shiniest toys. Some of it he attributed to company perks and ‘not really my stuff, you know?’ but that didn’t stop Jean from quietly envying his friend. He’d happy take company perks on loan and deal with what Armin claimed was a crazy work schedule as a personal assistant to some rich guy over the 45 minute train rides, flipping burgers for shitty customers, and washing dishes in the campus cafe anyday of the week.

Not that he’d ever said that. It wasn’t like Armin bragged or flaunted his money, unless sliding Jean a few dollars on loan when he’d found himself short once or twice counted as flaunting. Jean was pretty sure it didn’t so there wasn’t really any reason to give Armin shit. Different circumstances were different. Armin had gotten lucky and he hadn’t.

“Sorry.” Armin shrugged again but didn’t actually look all that apologetic.

Sasha and Connie continued to try and get them both to change their minds as the continued to walking to where the path split, left to the parking lot and right to the main road. Jean admired their persistence; there were very few people as stubborn as there two, especially when they got together and focused on a goal. It was honestly impressive. Just not impressive enough to make Jean forget about the sad state of his bank account or to sway Armin. In the end they veered to the left, loudly accusing them of being no fun.

Armin waved after them until they were out of sight then switched his attention to Jean. “You’re heading to the station right? Come to my place first?”

“Don’t I always?”

The rail station was about two blocks from Armin’s place (another reason it was such a great location) and it wasn’t uncommon for him to walk to blond home at night before heading to catch a train. He wasn’t all that worried about Armin, since the neighborhood was such a good one and he knew for a fact there was pepper spray in his friend’s bag, but he’d always figured better safe than sorry.

Armin rolled his eyes. “I meant come inside for a drink. You can even crash for the night if you want.”

Jean blinked then slide his eyes to the side so he could look over the blond as they walked. Not that he’d never been inside Armin’s apartment before but it was always with other people to study. And once to get really drunk in solidarity for Sasha breaking up with her girlfriend and then again to celebrate her and Connie getting together, but the point was he’d never been invited up alone. Or so late at night.

It was pretty weird that he’d opt out of going out with Sasha and Connie to then offer to drink with Jean. Alone. With an offer to stay the night. Alone. It had, admittedly, been a while since anyone had invited him up for a ‘drink’ (being poor and chronically tired kind of cramped his dating style) but he was pretty sure if it had been anyone but Armin he would have assumed it was a proposition right off the bat.

It was only the fact that Armin had never expressed interest in him, or any other member of the human race, for the entire three years they’d known each other that gave him pause.

“I’m not asking you to come up for sex.” Armin’s deadpan broke into his thoughts. Jean stumbled and nearly lost his footing, alarmed that he was apparently so easy to read. “The next train isn’t for thirty minutes so even coming up and having a few drinks then staying the night means you’ll get into bed sooner than if you go home.”

That was probably completely true. Between the wait, the ride, and the walk, he was looking at about 90 minutes before he’d even get through his door let alone into the bed. And Armin’s couch was nicer than his futon. And his heart was pretty iffy these days and it was getting colder, fast. And-

“And Sasha was right about you needing to relax.” He was graced with a knowing half smile. “And the drinks are free at my place.”

Jean’s eyebrows went up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Armin just hummed and turned his eyes forward, refusing to say another word.

\---

Jean had to give credit where credit was due. Armin kept a well stocked liquor cabinet, going so far as to have deep amber and shining clear liquids in fancy unlabeled glass bottles, and knew how to throw a drink together. He shook up something a bright lurid blue, poured it into a glass, and shoved it into Jean’s hands within five minutes of getting their shoes off. It tasted pretty good, with no alcohol taste or burn on the way down, so Jean drank it down without really realizing it. Armin worked on his own drink, something peach colored and fizzy, while dropping takeout menus on the coffee table in front of them.

A second drink was handed to him while Armin put in a order for Korean food and then a third before the blond wandered off towards his bedroom, leaving Jean on the couch flipping through netflix. He took the third slower, starting to feel the familiar warmth in the pit of his stomach and chest. Sweet tasting or not it was probably a bad idea to keep chugging drinks.

Though. It would probably help him sleep. Not that getting comfortable on Armin’s couch would be a hardship or anything. It was firm but not ‘hard’, covered in soft gray fabric, and more than long enough enough for him to stretch out on.

It was, like everything else in Armin’s place, really nice without being over the top and probably really expensive. Jean knew a thing or two about nice stuff from his life before his dad had run off after all. The tables, shelves, and entertainment center all looked like they were real wood, not covered plywood. The electronics were top of the line, there was just about every video game console ever, and the TV was large and sleek, but not so huge it was tacky or anything. Everything in the kitchen was brand new and gleaming (and in same cases still had stickers or were unused in the boxes). There were paintings on the wall, some metal sculpture in one corner, and other nice decorations scattered about.

All of that combined with the fact it was one of the penthouses on the top five floors that the elevator wouldn’t even go without a special key just screamed money to Jean. And he’d already known that Armin had to have some money but now that he was really looking at everything, and buzzed enough to not stop himself from considering it all in terms of dollar signs, he was realizing how much money that had to be.

“I think this stuff will fit you.” Armin announced when he emerged from the back of the apartment with what looked like pajamas in one hand and his empty glass in the other. He’d lost his jeans and sweater in favor of shorts and a strappy pink tank top. “Better than any of my clothes would at least.”

“Were your parents rich or something?” The words slipped out before he could stop himself and once they were out there, heavy and very stupid, he felt like an ass. He knew that Armin’s parents had died when he was young and that now Armin was all alone, no family at all since his grandfather has passed, and it was a dick move to ask something like that, alcohol or no.  

He set his glass, which had apparently lost three-fourths of its contents at some point, and shook his head to clear out all of the thoughts about Armin’s apartment. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”

Armin frowned as he handed him the clothes then beelined back for the liquor cabinet. It was sort of out of place, an older piece built thick and sturdy with excessive woodcarving on the front and sides. It was kind of...ugly, especially next to all the clearly new things in the apartment.

A buzzer sounded somewhere and, with one last thoughtful look in his direction, Armin headed for the elevator that opened up right into his apartment. Jean listened to him, voice low and a little slurred, as he spoke into the com system by the elevator then hit a button that made another, softer, buzzer sound. A few minutes later they were in the kitchen, poking through styrofoam containers.

Jean didn’t say anything as he pushed chicken, noodles, and kimchi onto a plate and Armin pushed himself up to sit on the counter. The buzz of alcohol was settling over him, making the room feel hotter, his head heavier, and making it harder to keep his need to apologize again to himself. The longer he went, shoving bites of bbq chicken into his mouth, the worst the felt about it.

He couldn’t even enjoy the buzz and kept sneaking looks at Armin, who was looking down at his phone while chewing slowly. Jean looked down again, sighing softly. Less than an hour and he was already wishing he’d just gone home.

“You want to know how I afford all this, right?” Armin’s voice broke the strained silence that had fallen over them. “That’s why you asked?”

Jean hesitated, biting his lower lip, then made a vague gesture to everything around them. “It’s nice than most college students have. Way nicer than my place. I mean, if being a personal assistant pays this much I need to be doing what you’re doing.”

“Ah. You don’t meant that. What I do kind of sucks.”

“My apartment could fit in your kitchen and on days I don’t work I usually only eat once a day.” Jean said. “I would happily work for some rich dude in order to afford a place like this.”

Armin set down his phone to sip at his drink, eyes downcast. He didn’t look sad or even annoyed exactly but his lips were twisted with some kind of upset. But then he was smiling and laughing softly as he pushed his hair out of his eyes.

“I don’t pay for this. My...hmm. Boyfriend? Daddy? Does.”

Jean’s brain skipped right over ‘Daddy’, because wow, weird but he, and straight to processing that A. Armin was dating someone who clearly had money and B. that that someone was willing to shower Armin it. Which lead him right to one very pressing concern.

“Does he have a brother?”

Armin choked his way right into a coughing fit. Jean watched was his face pinked and his eyes watered, unsure if he was being laughed at or had just taken Armin that much by surprise. He wasn’t sure what could have been surprising about what he said though. He’d happily try to charm some rich guy. If he was nice. And cute. He said as much to Armin who coughed again before looking away and biting his lip like he was trying to hold back laughter.

He was pretty sure Armin was drunk. Not that Armin never laughed but he never laughed at people and he certainly didn’t do breathless giggling, which was what he was doing now.

“Why is that so funny?” And, fair enough, Jean hadn’t been serious. He doubted he could date someone and have them think he was into them when really he was just into their money. It seemed pretty skeevy even to his sort of drunk mind.

But hey, whatever worked for Armin. It wasn’t his business.  

The blond lifted shaking shoulders into a shrug. “Just. Ah, it’s...not like that, really. I mean, for starters, you’re probably going to need more than one rich guy for all this stuff.”

Jean tilted his head to the side in confusion as he tried to parse that. It seemed straightforward enough, yeah, but it wasn’t quite clicking. More than one? Was Armin saying he had more than one boyfriend? More than one rich boyfriend? Why? Where had he found a bunch of rich dudes who wanted to buy him shit? Did they know about each other? How had he managed to convince multiple people that he was their ‘boyfriend’ and to give him stuff?

What kind of dating mastermind was Armin?

“Jean.” Armin managed to squeak out, looking moderately more serious. “Listen. I...I am a sugar baby. That’s what I do. Oh. Hmm. I’ve never told anyone that before.”

He looked faintly relieved and sat up straighter once his ‘confession’ was out there. Which was good for him but just left Jean staring at him in confusion.

This bit was even harder to untangle for his slightly foggy brain. He had a vague image form at the words: a young attractive but dim woman in a short dress sitting on the lap of an old crusty half dead man while he put money in her hand. He thought it was something he might have heard about on the TV, during a talk show or something, and not in a good light. It brought to mind things like ‘gold digger’ and ‘manipulator’ and ‘hooker’, and disgusted people turning up their noses at the very idea.

Armin didn’t really fit the picture in his head.

“What?”

“I...meet guys online who want companionship and my time.” Armin pursed his lips thoughtfully. “To be their ‘boyfriend’, I guess. Go out with them places, listen to them when they talk, make them feel interesting and important, and whatever else goes with the boyfriend thing. And those men like to...take care of me.”

Okay then. Jean tapped his fingers against the top of the table. It took him a few minutes to pull it all together and form a conclusion, during which Armin watched him with big wary blue eyes.

“So you fuck old guys for money.” Jean said finally. Armin made a face at him and Jean rolled his eyes. “I was listening to what you said but…I mean. Fundamentally. That’s what you do right?”

He hadn’t said sex (or that the men were old) but Jean figured that part was implied with the ‘whatever else’. Armin, his soft spoken and generally kind and helpful friend, was saying he fucked old men for money.

Not that he was knocking it. He lived it what was basically a drafty shoe box in a shit neighborhood and lived off of rice, dried beans, and tuna where Armin had a nice penthouse apartment with real furniture and real food. Clearly what Armin did was working for him.

It just seemed a little…gross? Immoral? Illegal, at the very least. Jean wasn’t a legal expert but he was pretty sure having sex for money was the sort of thing people got arrested for.

“It’s a little more than that.” Armin said as he hopped off the kitchen counter and shuffled over to where his cookie jar was sitting. He wobbled a little along the way but a hand on the counter kept him from tipping over. “They pay for my undivided attention and affection. All the fun of a relationship with someone younger and attractive without all the downsides, like having to care about what I do all day.”

Jean could only shake his head. “They pay you to what, talk to them and cuddle while watching netflix then?”

“If they want. It's a flexible position.” Armin giggled again, eyes bright with mirth. The cookie jar was set in front of Jean with a thump. He spared it a look before meeting Armin’s gaze. “And it’s not so much paying me as...gifts to express their fondness.”

Jean knew bullshit when he heard it. Honestly Armin didn’t look all that convinced either.

“Well that sounds great. Sign me right up.” He deadpanned. “What are the job requirements? Any heavy lifting involved?”

Armin snorted softly then opened up the jar and inclined his head towards it. Jean glanced at it quickly then stopped, doing a double take. Instead of cookies there was money, rolls of 20′s, 50′s, and 100′s, all bound with rubber bands and nearly filling the jar. It was a lot of money. More than Jean, with his part-time job flipping burgers, had ever seen at once. Hell, he’d never imagined seeing that much in one place.

Jean turned back to Armin, wide-eyed. “That might be the single sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh good.” Armin set the lid back on the jar. “Getting turned on by money is actually a job requirement.”

“Is it?”

Armin nodded solemnly. “It really is. Without that, or a ‘old enough to be your father or grandfather’ kink, you’re pretty much out of luck.”

“Noted.” Jean looked at the jar again then sat back in his chair with a sigh. “I need another drink.”

“Lucky for you the guy who pays for this place likes to drink.” Armin said as he turned on his heel to head back to the living area. “Top shelf stuff. You should come over more often, I’ve got tons and no one to drink with most of the time.”

“Maybe.” Jean said as he reached to drain what was left in his glass. Assuming he didn’t manage to drink himself blackout drunk to purge the image of Armin with guys old enough to be his grandfather from his brain.

\---

It was the ringing of his phone that woke Jean up. It seemed twice as loud as it normally was, shrill and grating and way way too close to his fucking ear. He groped for it under the pillow his head was on then, squinting at the bright blue light, swiped and brought it to his ear.

“‘Lo?” HE croaked out. His mouth and throat felt like someone had scraped sandpaper all over them: dry, tight, and hurting. It went nicely with his suddenly ability to feel his pulse in his head, throbbing painfully on the inside of his skull.

“Jean!?” The voice of his manager at the restaurant was like a sharp icepick right to his brain. He winced and yanked it away from his ear. Someone groaned somewhere close to him.

Was someone in his apartment? Had he actually let someone come inside? Why would he do...wait. No. This wasn’t his pillow he was drooling on.

“Where the hell are you?” The shrieking continued, still dreadfully loud even though it wasn’t against his face anymore. “You’re late, again!”

“Uhh.” He mumbled intelligently as he squinted at his phone. 1:13. Twelve...as in PM!?! As in two hours past the start of his shift?

He sat up, swearing loudly, and the world tilted dangerously around him while his brain screamed in protest. It felt like his head was a hundred pounds and ready to roll right off of his fucking shoulders. He swore again, reaching out his free hand to grip whatever was closest. His manager was still shouting, something about this being the third time that month (which...was true. His schedule sometimes made getting from campus to work or from his apartment to work a tight squeeze.)

He swallowed, trying to work some moisture into his mouth, and brought the phone closer. “‘m sorry. On my way.”

“Are you drunk? Is that why you aren’t here?” He shouted. Jean didn’t understand how a grown man managed to make his voice so irritatingly high pitched. “You know what, don’t bother!”

Jean’s eyes, dry and alarmingly hot as they were, snapped open wider. “Wait, what? No!”

Another groan to his left. He turned, gaze falling on the gray loveseat and the small quilt covered lump shifting around on it.

Where the hell-no, didn’t matter. He had to focus. Where were his shoes was a much better question.

“Look, sir, I’m so sorry.” He said as he forced himself to stand. The world was swaying, or maybe it was just him, but he managed to stay up in spite of it. “I need-”

“No, no sorry.” His manager stopped yelling but the hard tone he took on wasn’t any better. Jean’s heart jumped into his throat, cutting off the rest of what he was doing to say. “Last time was your last warning. Bring in your shirt and hat before your last paycheck is issued or we’ll dock you for it.”

He squeaked but there was only the dial tone in his ear. He pulled his phone away, gaping at the cracked and chipped screen in shock. Had...was this...oh god.

He sat down hard, head dropping in his hands. His stomach flipped and churned and a bitter taste rose up in the back of his throat.  No no no. This was not- how had he slept so late? How could he have been that drunk? Had he slept through his alarm? Had he even set an alarm? What the fuck had happened last night?

“Hey.” He turned to look at Armin, who had poked his head out from the quilt he was cocooned in. His eyes were bloodshot and drooping, his hair was loose and sticking up all over, and his skin had taken on a grayish color. “What’s up?”

“I think I just got fired.”

Armin’s mouth formed a surprised O. “Jean I...damn.”

Damn was sort of an understatement in his opinion. The job had been awful, with shit hours and shit customers who treated him like he was stupid or lesser, his manager was...well, not that bad considering how often he was late, and the he made minimum wage but...he needed that fucking job. Or, rather, a job. Desperately. He was already stretched thin.

Even being out of work for a week, assuming he could find a new job and start that quickly, would fuck him up.

What was he going to do?

Armin wiggled out from under the quilt, looking worried. And a little green. “Can you call back and try to talk to them? Or maybe-”

Jean tuned Armin out as he closed his eyes and tried to reconstruct the night before and understand how he could have drank so much. They’d left the library around 9, what had he been doing to sleep until 1pm?

He’d had a few drinks. They’d ordered food and then

Oh.

_OH!_

Wait, no. That was...that wouldn’t work. He couldn’t…

Then again.

He lifted his head back up to look over at Armin who was trying to stand on wobbly feet.

“Hey. Tell me about this sugar baby thing.”

Armin’s eyes became as wide as saucers. “Wh-what? Why would you ask me about-” He stopped, all the color rushing from his face, then hurriedly lurched towards what Jean knew was the guest bathroom. A sound that could only be retching filled the apartment. Jean slumped over, tossing an arm over his eyes, and willed himself not to think about anything just in case it would make his head explode.  

A few minutes later a hand pushed at his shoulder. He peeked over his arm to see Armin leaning over the back of the couch and staring at him through lowered lashes.

“Did I tell you about the...sugar baby thing?” Jean nodded. Armin dropped his head against the couch. “Shit.”


End file.
